I'm fifty going on twelve evidenced by this explosive game I play with Julia and Natalie, a game that almost rendered me dead five days ago.
Let's call the game Catch the Duck. I take Natalie's duck and pretend to be sleeping with it while lying on the playroom floor. One of the girls snatches the duck as I fake snore. I explode upwards and chase them down the hall. They run into the living room and stand by the piano while I snarl in the hallway doorway threshold. I grab the door frame, bend my knees, squatting several times while making bear growls, and propel upward at a forty-five degree angle, exploding through the doorway and chasing the girls, tickling them, and grabbing the duck and returning to the baby room and once again feigning sleep. This cycle goes on and on until one or all of us becomes fatigued.
However, the game is on hiatus after a scary injury. Five days ago as I propelled myself in the doorway, my head directly hit the top of the door frame, leaving two bloody gashes on my pate that are still conspicuous as I write this.
After hitting my head, I collapsed, curled into the fetal position, and wondered if I had a concussion, was on the verge of a brain explosion or what. No headaches ensued. No dizziness. So I didn't go to a doctor.
But I feel very, very stupid.
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